


Of Rain & Red Moonlight

by amarthe



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Flashbacks, Gen, Heavy Angst, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Original Character(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:00:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27061585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amarthe/pseuds/amarthe
Summary: A grim, rainy night in the Forbidden Woods triggers a flashback to Ulalume's childhood in Hemwick, and how their hometown fell.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character





	Of Rain & Red Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think anyone is going to end up reading this, and that's alright. This is going to expand into hurt/comfort, probably, but for now have a traumafic.

It was a rainy evening in the woods, the dark clouds painting the sky a grey more dreary than usual. The sound of water dripping into a puddle stirred Ulalume from their trance, and they rose from their desk to fetch a bucket and some rags so that the water leaking in from the gaps in their cabin’s roof wouldn’t cause any more water damage to the floor than it already had. The end of their aniline-dyed robes absorbed some of the rainwater pooling on the floor as they skirted past it and into their kitchen, where a tin bucket and rags stained a rusty brown waited for them in a cupboard. As they entered the cluttered room which still smelled of spices from their dinner a few hours before, the view from their kitchen window distracted them. The wind caused the rain to hit the panes of the window thoughtfully, like fingertips drumming on the top of a desk, their owner lost in thought. Lightning illuminated the forest surrounding their meager home, the rolls of thunder vibrating the glass of the four-paned windows. The trees swayed and bowed like a sinner lamenting in church, stray leaves fluttering in the aggressive wind that tore them from their branches. Ulalume stood in the middle of their kitchen, just in front of the rickety kitchen table, and stared out the window as a memory boiled to the surface of their mind. The night that Hemwick had fallen.

They had been at the end of their adolescence at the time. Old enough to understand that things wouldn’t be the same for them anymore, but young enough to not understand why that really was. The answer, of course, was that sometimes things just happened that way, and no matter how you wished to the contrary, sometimes that is just how it was. You lose your home, your family, to something that had been lurking in the shadows for ages. You should’ve seen it coming, you should’ve expected the teeth to pierce your flesh as it had your neighbors’, your neighbors’ neighbors, but somehow, you thought you were exempt. The night had been similar to this one, but much colder. The region was at the end of autumn at the time, and the rain hammered down with all the fury and sorrow of a widow’s tears, the teeth of the winds of winter biting through any armor you may have had. But the Koloman family was sheltered from it all.

Ulalume sat in their childhood home at the table where countless meals had been shared among them, their parents, and their siblings, and there they cleaned their father’s rifle as he performed the ritual he always did on nights like this, pulling on a thick layer of leather armor over his normal day clothes, Ula’s mother lacing it up tightly enough to keep the teeth of beasts from entering the gaps, and, to accommodate for the weather, adorning himself with a couple layers of warm wool, before finishing with a waxed coat to keep the rain from soaking him to the bone. Ulalume whispered a prayer for their father to the being that had only just started whispering in their mind at this point. The being’s voice was alien and rich and heavy, and yet somehow, too, it was paternal. It was a comfort to them when their father was away hunting game, beasts, or both, although when it came to beasts, it was rarely humans that were doing the hunting there. As they finished their prayer so too did they finish their chore, presenting the firearm before their father who inspected it with little scrutiny, a sign of the trust he bore to his offspring. He placed a gloved hand firmly on his child’s shoulder, the strongest sign of affection the reserved man showed to them, pulled down the scarf obscuring his nose and mouth to give his wife a kiss, and then made for the door. He was stopped by Hason, the youngest of the Koloman family, wrapping his small arms around his father’s legs and beginning to cry.

“Don’t go, daddy! I don’t like when you go like this, you come home and you smell like what Nika smelled like and I don’t like it.” The youngest son rambled, his tiny voice breaking as he cried. 

Nika had been the Koloman’s family hound, and she had accompanied the patriarch on many a hunt, but as the sun fell and the moon rose many times, she had begun to change. Her fur grew sparse and grey, the texture of it becoming coarse. They wrote this off as her age, which was nearing double digits. And then her posture began to change, her stance more widened and hunched over, like she was always stalking something. As time passed it was almost as though her very skeletal structure changed. She became bigger, hardier. Her jaw widened, more and more rows of teeth taking up residency in her always-hungry maw. 

The biggest change was in her eyes. It was as though the irises had dissolved into mush, the once-crystalline blue of her eyes giving way to a swampy green. They no longer lit up with recognition when her name was called, rather they darted and glared at all who approached her. Ulalume’s father had been bitten a few times while on the hunt with her, but it was only when she left a scar in the shape of her teeth on the forearm of their middle child, Ula themself, that the Kolomans truly accepted what had become of her. She had succumbed to the scourge that was infecting everyone and everything around them. Ulalume did not see their father shoot their dog with the rifle they had been forever tasked with cleaning, but when they saw him lead her outside, snarling and frothing, and then heard the gunshot, and saw their mother hide her face with her hands, they knew what had become of Nika.

Hason was pulled away by his mother who cradled him in calloused hands, shushing him and reassuring him that his father would be alright. She cast a wary look at her husband, who nodded once at her before finally making his exit into the chill of the night, before bringing the young boy to the room he and his barely-older sister, Laurel, shared. She would soon join her brother in slumber, leaving Ulalume the last of the Koloman children to sleep. They soon did, and a hush fell over the house, leaving the only sounds that of the rain, the wind, and the thunder. Despite the turmoil around them, the house of the Kolomans was a sanctuary of peace.

This would not last through the night.

Ula, Hason, Laurel, and their mother were torn from sleep by the sound of the front door being violently swung open. The lead hinges rattled and moaned against the assault, accompanied by the sounds of boots against wood and the Koloman patriarch shouting. Ulalume was the first to rise, rushing to the door to greet their father who told them only to get their siblings and leave the house. By the severity of his voice they knew not to ask why and followed his command, rousing his siblings from slumber and guiding them by the hand outside their home. The rain had since subsided but the wind had not, cutting through their light sleepwear and sending a chill through the three children. Before them was a horse-drawn carriage silhouetted by a massive red moon which cast all things in its bloodied light. Ula hesitated for a moment to stare in horrified awe at it, and as they did that paternal voice whispered in their mind again. Its utterings were in no language they could speak, they had tried and their tongue failed them, and yet, some place in their guts knew what it meant. A voice coming from the front of the carriage pulled them from their rapture. The carriage driver plead for them to get in, and  _ quickly _ , and the children complied, Ula helping lift their siblings into the compartment of the carriage by their underarms before joining the other two themself. The carriage door was shut behind them, and the crack of a whip commanded the horses pulling it to proceed forward. 

“What of our mother and father?” The eldest child yelled at the driver, turning to look out the back window of the carriage as the only home they’d ever known rapidly grew smaller and dimmer before finally being enveloped in the night. The driver did not respond to them, focusing instead on getting himself and the children away from the house as quickly as possible. 

Ulalume stared out the window into the night that passed them by, and then kept staring as they began to understand what they saw, and why they and their siblings were taken from their home in the middle of the night. The streets were bathed in blood, and it was not just from the ghastly light of the moon overhead. Women danced in revelry around bonfires, swinging sickles and bonesaws and other such implements above their heads and howling and cackling like animals. It was a blasphemy to the traditional fireside rituals that had been led only weeks prior by these very same women. They were drenched in blood and viscera, bodies of their husbands and children and neighbors piled at their feet. Memories of the Koloman family dancing and singing folk songs and tossing bundles of herbs and grains into roaring bonfires flickered through their mind, muddying with the sights they saw before them now. A barely-living man, who Ulalume recognized as the neighbor that often gave them sweets in exchange for simple chores, was cast onto one of these bonfires. The scream the old man let out rang in the child’s ears and they watched as the man’s body caught fire, the upper layers of skin singed away as the scent of burning hair clung pungently in the surrounding air. They passed by hunters whose eyes had been gouged from their skulls, hung still-twitching by the ankle from balconies. What had become of their hometown, of the people that they knew and loved?

Ula’s siblings tried to shove past them to look out as well, and they turned to Hason and Laurel, placing a firm hand on each of their shoulders much like their father had to them hours prior, and sternly told them,  _ do not look out there.  _ The faces of the two fell, still not knowing the severity of the situation but judging by their elder sibling’s tone that they did not want to know. After a moment of heavy silence in the compartment, Ulalume released their grip on their siblings. They couldn’t help but turn back to the window and stare out, but the horrors that passed in front of their eyes no longer registered. The rain had since picked up yet again, droplets streaking across the glass of the carriage’s door. The red moon caught in the rain that streamed down the glass, and it reminded them of blood. The blood that soaked the streets of Hemwick.

They felt as though they were watching themselves from outside their own body. Tears stung their eyes and yet they were numb, like their nerves had been burned away alongside their neighbors’ in the massive bonfires that littered the streets. They stared not at the things that passed them by, but through them, their mind blank, their pale hand pressed against the cold window. A large branch underneath the wheels of the carriage caused it to bounce unexpectedly and they were pulled back into their body by force. The carriage driver swore and hissed as he tugged on the frightened horses’ reins as they raced through the woods. The carriage crossed over something in the cobbled road again, the compartment bobbing more violently this time. Ula put a protective arm over their siblings in an attempt to keep them seated in the compartment, squinting out of the window but unable to see what was causing the disturbances in the blackness of the night. Something made the carriage jerk violently to the right, and as it did the wheels failed to make purchase with the rain-slick stone of the road. The carriage began to careen into the forest, its left side slamming into the cobblestone beneath it. The sound of wood breaking, horses baying, and children screaming echoed in the night as the Koloman children were flung from their seats with the force of the impact. The last thing they saw as their head collided with the side of the carriage was Laurel desperately clinging to her brother, and then they fell unconscious. 

When they awoke, they were still in the compartment of the carriage. The candle that had illuminated the inside had been blown out in the impact, but red light streamed in from the open door opposite to the one Ulalume had been peering out from. Hosan and Laurel were nowhere in sight. They stared up at the blood moon and silently offered it thanks for its light, their left temple throbbing as they stood in the sideways carriage. They grabbed onto the door frame and pulled themselves up and out of the wreckage, calling for their siblings as they surfaced. They heard no reply. Getting themselves down from the carriage, they inspected the carnage around them. The two horses that had been pulling the carriage were dead, one crushed underneath the weight of the vehicle, the other’s coat stained with its own blood, its guts spilling onto the forest floor. The driver had been thrown from his place in the front of the carriage, his body caught in a thicket a yard from the sight of the wreck. His body was contorted into a position impossible to assume, had he been alive. Some of his joints had been bent completely backwards, and his neck was visibly snapped. Despite the fact that they were no stranger to gore, Ulalume’s stomach churned at these sights. 

Their eyes caught on the pistol still strapped around the man’s waist. They needed to protect their siblings. They didn’t know where their parents were, or if they were even still alive. The responsibility to keep Hason and Laurel alive was on their shoulders now. Bending over his body, they grabbed the pistol and bag of ammunition attached to the deceased man’s belt. Their father had taught them how to use a firearm on one of the few hunting trips they had shared together, before the scourge became too dangerous for them to come with him. The gun was heavy in their small hands, and it shook visibly. They hoped they wouldn’t need to use it. Where were their siblings? They called out for them again, and still there was no answer.

Walking around the southern side of the wreck, they saw it. A white piece of fabric with light blue flowers delicately embroidered on it, stained red in viscera. It was only a fragment of the garment their mother had hand-embroidered for Laurel, but they knew what it meant. They approached the piece of fabric, picking it up off the road and holding it in a clenched, shaking fist. Their pale grey eyes scanned the surrounding area, being met with a scene that brought them to their knees. They retched, bile rising in their throat and spittle dribbling down their chin as Ulalume’s body was wracked with sobs. The lower half of their younger brother was in the middle of the road, his intestines a trail into the forest. Their siblings had survived the crash, but not the beasts which lurked in the woods on a night like this. Ula knelt there for what felt like an eternity, sobbing and gagging and trembling. The reality was sinking in. In just one night, they had lost everything, and there was nothing they could have done to stop it. 

The sound of claws against stone widened their eyes, still streaming with tears, and they turned to face the source of the noise. A beast like what their father had told them countless stories of faced them on the lonesome cobbled road. They didn’t think. Their next action was entirely automatic, borne out of stubborn self-preservation and countless drills their father guided them through. They gripped the pistol in their shaking hands, raising it at the beast until the barrel pointed the lupine straight in the eye. Their slender hands wrapped around the grip of the gun as the words of their father echoed through their mind.  _ Hold onto that gun like it’s your life.  _ They wrapped their finger around the trigger and pulled, squeezing their eyes shut as the gun recoiled. Either they had shot the beast, or they were about to meet their end. 

Ulalume opened their eyes just in time to see the lycanthrope’s head exploding into a red mist. The beast dropped dead before them, its hungry maw still open and drooling blood. Ula whispered a prayer of thanks that the pistol was loaded, and while the shot still rang through the air, they pushed forward. It was the night of the blood moon, and there would be more beasts to come, and their heart was full of sorrow but  _ something _ pushed them to keep going. Bare feet padding along the cold cobblestone ground, Ulalume, the last of the Koloman family, pressed forwards. Through sheer luck, or perhaps some unseen hand of fate, no other beasts troubled them until dawn, when a carriage full of fellow Hemwicker refugees pulled up behind them. They were soaked in rain, catatonic, and shaking violently, and they were stubbornly alive. The other Hemwickers brought them into the carriage and wrapped them in their hand-knitted blankets and scarves and brought them to the city of Yharnam, where a new series of horrors would befall them.

A calloused hand grasping theirs pulled Ulalume from the memory. The chill of their rain-drenched nightgown was replaced by the warmth of their fireplace-heated cabin, the memory giving way to the present day. For a moment, they flinched, instinctively reaching for one of the knives now always kept on their belt, but as the hand of their lover, Pyotr, squeezed their own, their shoulders slightly relaxed in recognition.


End file.
